Skin Deep
by catharticone
Summary: Rose and the Doctor struggle with the aftermath of her experience as a captive on a harsh, unforgiving planet.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. I'm just borrowing..._

_Thanks, as always, the wonderful Sonic Jules for support and beta assistance. _

_**Author's Note:**_ This is set mid-season two.

* * *

She was on her knees in the dirt, digging at the hard, rocky soil with a small trowel. Her palms were both rough with the remnants of old blisters and raw with new ones. Her nails were ragged and torn to the quick. Tangled clumps of hair hung over her face. She glanced to the side to see another young woman in a similar position, working equally hard. Still, it wasn't enough; it was never enough. The harsh shout from the hillside warned of the consequences for idleness. If three baskets were not filled with the knobby root vegetables by next check, penalties would ensue.

Rose pushed herself to work faster. The trowel dug into her sore, broken skin, but she ignored it. Her knees ached, and pain prickled along her shins from the rocks digging into them, but she paid it no heed. She focused all her attention upon the task at hand. She'd seen the consequences of failing to do this, and she was determined not to witness them again.

So intense was her focus that the unique, familiar sound nearly escaped her. It had been so long since she'd heard it; she'd almost forgotten what that bizarre grinding whine signified. Still, something within her mind sparked, and she dared a quick glance up.

Rose squinted in the hot afternoon sunlight. Was that a hint of blue peeking out behind the hillside? She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, hardly daring to believe that he'd finally come back for her. But there it was: The light atop the TARDIS glinted in the sunshine.

The sight spurred her to action. She shot to her feet, dropping the trowel into the dirt. "He's here!" she cried to the woman beside her. "I knew he'd come!"

Her friend lifted tired eyes to Rose. "Really?"

"Yes! We're getting out of here. Come on!" Rose held out her hand.

The woman hesitated. The guard was already moving toward them, a deeply threatening expression upon his face.

"Go, Rose," the woman said. "Come back for me if you can."

"No, you have to come too," Rose protested.

"There's not time. Just go. Get out of here."

The guard was no more than a few yards away. This might be her only chance. With a look that held her promise, she told her companion, "I'll be back. We'll come back for you."

The young woman nodded and quickly grasped Rose's hand. "Now go."

Rose turned and began to run. Her legs felt leaden at first, then they seemed made of jelly. But she pushed on, limbs pumping for all she was worth as she rounded the base of the hill. Behind her she heard angry shouts, but she ignored them. In her mind, she heard a single word, spoken in a familiar voice: "Run!"

Spurred on by the memory, and the knowledge that the owner of that voice was waiting for her, she ran.

* * *

The Doctor walked down the ramp and through the door, taking a moment to survey the surroundings. Yes, this was the right place, and his chronometers assured him that this was the right time, within a margin of thirty-five days or so. If he'd arrived too early, he'd have to adjust the settings and try again. Still, he'd made it back, finally, and he felt immensely relieved. Knowing that he'd stranded Rose here broke his hearts. It had been an accident, of course, a quirk of fate, but that was no excuse. He should have been more careful, more aware of the potential for this to happen.

He looked around at the arid land and felt the heat radiating up from the earth. This was a miserable planet with little to offer its inhabitants. Still, they made do, using that infallible human resolve and tenacity to eke out a living from the dry soil and scant mineral deposits.

Suddenly shouts echoed against the hill. Following the noise, his gaze shot to the right, and a figure came into view. It took him a moment to realize that it was Rose. She was running, but her gait was odd and lurching.

He dashed toward her, shouting her name. As he neared her, he saw the man who pursued her. He was burly, his expression murderous. The Doctor reached for Rose's hand and tugged her along at his side, not wasting the time to speak to her.

They ran over the dry dirt, feet and hearts pounding furiously. The guard was drawing nearer, screaming dire threats that the Doctor felt were anything but idle. The Time Lord pulled Rose along, forcing her to keep up with his long, fast stride. He tried not to think about what her slower pace might signify. He kept his eyes forward, not daring to glance at her for fear that her appearance would cause him to falter.

The guard was close at their heels, but they managed to get to the TARDIS before he intercepted them. The Doctor yanked Rose inside then slammed the doors. He hurried up the ramp to dematerialize the ship and remove them from harm's way.

The ship shuddered lightly, then the sequence was complete. Still panting slightly, he looked up. Rose remained by the doors, hands upon her knees, trying to catch her breath.

He strode down the ramp to stand somewhat awkwardly before her.

"You've taken us away?" she asked huskily.

He nodded.

She shook her head. "We have t'go back. There's someone there, a friend…I promised her I'd come back for her."

"We can, but not for a little while." He paused. "Rose, I—".

She looked up at him and inhaled sharply. "You came."

Immediately she was in his arms, her embrace tight and affirming. He held her securely, hands at her back. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head nuzzled his shoulder. For a few seconds he allowed himself to revel in her presence, to rejoice in their reunion without thoughts of where she'd been or what she'd done. But he was forced him to consider the effects of his carelessness as he realized abruptly how terribly thin Rose felt within his arms.

He took a step back, moving his hands to her shoulders and fixing his gaze upon her. Her face was streaked with dust; her eyes appeared small without the benefit of mascara and liner. Hanging in lank clumps, her hair looked very dark. She wore a simple shift of rough material, and her bare legs were coated with dirt. It was difficult to appraise her state beneath all the grime.

"Rose," he said, "I'm so sorry."

Her eyes were damp with tears. "What happened?" she asked hoarsely.

"There was a time storm; that's what we felt right after we landed there. It's a sort of vortex that forms when Time Lines cross unexpectedly. It was directly over the planet—that's why the TARDIS landed us there. And when I stepped back into the ship, she sealed herself off. It was the only way she could be protected from the force of the storm. We got swept up in it, and I kept trying to get back, but I couldn't until it was over. And I thought maybe it'd just been a day or two, but it wasn't, was it? How long was I gone?" The words had tumbled from him; he paused to take a breath.

"I knew you wouldn't leave me on purpose," she said softly. "Knew you'd come back, too."

"Of course I would. I'll always come for you." He hugged her again. "So how long was it for you?" he asked again.

"Dunno, really," she murmured against his jacket.

He rested a hand over her head. "I'm sorry." He knew he'd already said it, but it bore repeating more than once.

"I know." Abruptly, she stepped away, touching a strand of hair beside her cheek. "Need a shower," she said.

Well, that was entirely true, he supposed. She needed a good meal or twenty, too. Suppressing the niggling fear that there were other things he should ask, that he should find out exactly what she'd been doing while he was gone, he gave her a warm smile.

"That you do. And when you're done, I'll have some food ready. Any special requests?"

She shook her head. "Anything but dry bread." She gave a short laugh. "Just kiddin'." She began to shuffle toward the interior door. "Anything'll be fine. But I might be awhile."

"Take your time," he told her, watching her slightly halting steps as she disappeared into the corridor.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Rose had planned to take the longest shower of her life. There was so much dirt and grime to wash away. But the hot water and soap stung against the tender places on her skin, so she had to keep her back to the spray. Once she'd shampooed and conditioned her hair thoroughly and run the soapy bath sponge over her body, she rinsed under warm water then stepped out of the shower.

She slipped into her plush, soft robe then spent some time combing out her hair. She'd need to use some deep conditioner soon, and her hair color had dulled considerably, but it felt very good to run the large-toothed comb through the clean strands.

As she dried her hair, she tried not to feel alarmed by the wan, thin face that greeted her in the mirror. A few minutes' worth of make-up brought some color to her sallow cheeks and a bit of emphasis to her lackluster eyes.

Comfortable as the robe was, she decided to put on clothes before joining the Doctor for a meal. She needed to feel normal again, and she needed him to believe that she was all right. Walking about in a robe would accomplish neither of those goals.

She dressed in loose track pants and an oversized hoodie. It wasn't her best look, but it would do. She slipped on the softest socks she could find and left off her shoes. Thusly attired, she padded down the long corridor to the kitchen. Her steps were hurried because she had something important to discuss with the Time Lord.

* * *

The Doctor stirred the soup idly. He'd set the table with cheery red and yellow place mats and heated a large mug of hot chocolate for Rose. A sliced warm, fragrant baguette sat in a small basket (thank goodness for the high-tech freezer that kept food fresh indefinitely; he'd picked up the bread in Paris during his eighth incarnation), and pots of butter and jam rested beside Rose's place.

After only a bit of thought, he'd decided to prepare soup. If Rose's little quip about stale bread was even remotely telling, she'd subsisted on almost nothing for some time. Her digestive system would rebel at heavy meat or raw vegetables. So he'd whipped up a batch of barely soup in beef broth, adding a few well-cooked carrots for color and texture.

She would need some nutritional supplements, he was sure, but he would wait a bit on those. After she'd eaten, he'd see that she had a fortified protein drink replete with vitamins and minerals.

"Smells good."

He turned from the stove to see Rose in the doorway. He was a little surprised by her presence; he'd thought she'd take much longer with the bathing and grooming efforts.

"You're looking much better," he said, and it was true. He was immensely relieved to see her clean with her hair styled as usual and a bit of color gracing her complexion. Her hair lacked its usual shine and bounce, and he suspected that most of the color in her face was due to make-up, but she was still a sight for sore eyes.

"Thanks," she replied, moving to the table to settle into her chair. "So when can we go back?"

He ladled soup into a bowl. "TARDIS's still recovering from the time storm; it was really rough on her, and some of the circuits are still weak. It'll be a day or so before I can dematerialize her."

"But we can go back to right when we left?" she asked hopefully.

"Should be able to."

"Good, 'cause if they think Pehlia helped me t' get away…" Rose seemed to pale even with the layer of make-up smoothed across her cheeks.

He placed the soup before her then sat in the other chair. "She's the friend you mentioned?"

Rose nodded. "Yeah. She'd been there a lot longer an' helped me with… everything."

"Rose, what—" he began.

But she quickly interjected, "Anyway, as long as we can go back, everything'll be all right." She reached for the mug and took a sip of the hot cocoa, closing her eyes as she swallowed. "Mmm, that's good."

Clearly she preferred not to discuss her experience immediately. He decided he'd give her some time. Still, as he watched her, his concern mounted. Her hair look thin, and he could see the bones protruding from her wrists and the distinct outline of each delicate bone in her hands.

When she set the mug down, he reached forward to take her hand in his, turning it gently to expose the palm. Her skin was raw with broken blisters and scarred with barely healed ones. Her fingertips were deeply scraped as well.

Instinctively she curled her fingers around his. He saw that her fingernails were torn, some to the quick. The nails had an odd, spoon-shaped appearance, too, which he recognized immediately as koilonychias, most likely caused by an iron deficiency. He ran his thumb over her skin to find it rough and dry, another indication of sustained poor nutrition.

She pulled her hand away, seeming self-conscious at his study of it. With a quick, wan smile she lifted her spoon and began on her soup. The Doctor slathered butter and jam on a piece of bread and set it on her plate.

"Fresh from the best boulangerie in Paris," he said with forced cheer.

"Fresh?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Thought you said we couldn't move for a while."

"Well, fresh as in perfectly preserved in precisely the condition it arrived in," he clarified.

"Doesn't sound very appetizin'," she replied.

"Oh, just try a bite," he urged.

She complied and seemed to find it tasty enough to finish. She took a few more spoonfuls of soup and another sip of her cocoa then leaned back rather stiffly in her chair.

Surveying the half-filled bowl and mug, she mused, "Never thought such a little bit'd fill me up."

"It's all right," he reassured her. "You don't want to overdo it." He cleared away the dishes then extended his hand to her. "But you could use a little nutritional boost."

She took his hand, and he urged her to her feet, noting that she still moved gingerly. Muscle or joint pain and stiffness were not uncommon with malnutrition, he reminded himself.

"S'pose so," she agreed languidly. "But what I could use even more's a nice, long kip."

He nodded sympathetically. His observations had given him a fairly clear picture of the ways she'd spent her time away from him. She'd obviously been compelled to do hard manual labor of some sort, and he was sure she'd been held captive; the guard had been a solid clue about that.

"Soon, Rose, I promise." He led her from the kitchen and into the corridor. "I'll even walk you to your room and tuck you in. We just have to make a quick stop along the way."

"Where?" she asked, and he thought her voice contained a hint of mistrust.

"Just here," he replied amiably, pushing open a door.

"What's—" She looked around, eyes widening at the sight of the clean, white room with its glass cabinets, immaculate metal countertops, array of advanced equipment and machinery, and examination couch in the center. "'S like a doctor's office."

"Well, I am 'The Doctor.'"

"What're we doin' in here?" He noticed that she'd barely stepped inside.

"I promised you nutritional supplements, and nutritional supplements you shall get," he said cheerfully. Then, voice sobering, he added, "I can sort your hands, too. Ever heard of a dermal regenerator?"

She shook her head warily.

"Ooh, you'll love it! Probably want one of your very own after you see what this baby can do. Ten, fifteen seconds and your hands'll be good as new, maybe even better."

Rose glanced down at her palms. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied gently. He took her arm and guided her to the examination couch. "Have a seat and I'll have you back to rights in no time."

He thought her movements were reluctant, but she complied. He smiled his approval then turned toward one of the drawers to remove a small device. He took her hand and pressed the little machine over her wrist. An orange light flashed briefly, then he lifted the device away and slotted it into one of the diagnostic computers.

Rose was examining her hand. "It didn't work," she said.

"Hmm?"

"The dermal re-whatsit. Still looks an' feels the same."

"Oh, that wasn't the dermal regenerator. That was a blood analyzer."

She frowned. "You jus' took my blood?

"Only a tiny bit—just enough to do a quick analysis and see which minerals are low. That way I'll know just what to put in the fantastic, exotic, absolutely delicious cocktail I'm going to mix up for you." Perhaps his enthusiasm was a bit egregious.

"Oh, okay," she said rather slowly. "S'pose that's all right then."

"Right as rain." He slipped on his glasses. "Now, let's see about your hands."

He turned her hands up to expose her palms then dabbed carefully at the wounds with an antiseptic-saturated gauze pad. That done, he held the dermal regenerator over the damaged skin. The beam moved softly over her palms, leaving new, smooth dermis in its wake. Rose watched with growing interest.

"That's amazin'!" she said.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Standard twenty-seventh century technology—well, on at least forty-six planets. You lot'll take another couple of centuries beyond that to develop anything like this."

He ran the device over each fingertip then turned her hands over and repaired the deep scrapes on her knuckles.

"All right, that's it," he told her with a grin.

She lifted her hands, smiling back at him. "Thanks."

"Any time. I mean any time you need it. I hope you'll never need it again," he fumbled.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, "me too."

A small beep alerted him that the results of the blood analysis were ready. He set the dermal regenerator upon the counter then turned to the screen. As he'd expected, Rose's iron, potassium, zinc, and calcium levels were quite low. But there was something unexpected, too. He turned back to her with concern.

"That bad?" she asked with furrowed brow. "S'pose stale bread's not the ideal diet. Great weight loss plan, though." She attempted a smile.

"Nothing I can't fix with a few supplements and some good food. But your white count's up."

She gave her head a small shake. "Yeah?"

"It means your body's trying to fight off an infection." He waited; surely she'd tell him what he needed to know.

She didn't. She sat without speaking, eyes lowering to her hands.

The Doctor moved to stand before her, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Rose, tell me where else you're hurt."

She shook her head. "'S nothing," she said softly.

"Well, if it's causing your body to produce phagocytes, it's obviously something."

"Phagocytes?" she repeated dully.

"The white cells specifically created to clear out infected tissue. And their presence in your blood tells me that you've got a badly infected wound, and I imagine it's quite painful." He added the last words sympathetically.

"You've got all sorts of medicines in here, yeah?" Her eyes wandered about the room.

"Yeah."

Without looking at him, she said, "Then jus' give me some antibiotics or somethin'."

"That's not a good idea," he replied. He noticed that she still averted her eyes. "Without knowing what sort of infection you've got, I'd only be guessing at the proper type and dosage, and that's not very effective."

She swallowed, and her complexion grew even paler. "Should be effective enough."

He couldn't imagine why she'd dissemble so. Rose was usually open and honest. His eyes moved over her, trying to see any signs of injury beneath her bulky clothing. Bulky clothing… that wasn't like her, either. Suddenly a thought twisted horribly through his mind. She didn't want to tell him where she was hurt, and she was dressed almost protectively, as though she needed to cover up her body with layers of clothing, to shield herself from view.

His hearts sped up as he gently placed his hand upon her cheek. "Rose, did those men hurt you?"

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Rose did not respond to the Doctor's question for several seconds. Finally she said, "Pehlia—she's pregnant. That's why we have to go an' get her. She can't have the baby there."

"No, of course not. As soon as the ship's ready we'll go back." He wasn't sure what else to say. He sensed quite distinctly that she was trying to tell him something without coming out and saying it directly. So he waited.

After a few moments, Rose said softly, "She wasn't gettin' enough to eat. The rations they gave us were hardly anythin' at all. So I gave her most of mine."

That explained the degree of malnutrition. "Of course you did," he said with deep affection and admiration. He rested his chin over her crown, one hand running lightly over her hair.

"How long had she been there?"

"'Bout eight months, I think."

"I'm sorry. She must have had a difficult time."

"She was married, back on her planet. But they didn't care. Didn't matter to those bastards; she was fair game."

He'd heard this tale before, on countless planets, in countless galaxies, and countless times. "The guards?"

He felt her nod against his chest. Her cheeks were wet now. "She was raped."

He exhaled slowly, his voice quiet as he acknowledged her. "Yes."

"At least after they saw she was pregnant they left her alone," Rose continued huskily. "But she can't have the baby there. It's dirty an' hot, an' there'd be no one to help her, to be sure she came through it all right. An' she might not, 'cause she's weak, Doctor. She's not doin' very well, even though I tried to help her, to make sure she got extra food." She stifled a sob.

"Sshh," he soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "It's all right, Rose. Everything's going to be fine."

Guilt thudded through him, resounding with each beat of his hearts. Whatever had happened to Rose had been his fault. He'd left her, taken over a month to get her back, and during that time she'd been…

He took a half step back then lifted her chin. Tears trailed down her pale cheeks, leaving little streaks in the heavy make-up she'd applied.

"Rose," he said gently, his thumb rubbing softly at her cheek, "were you raped?"

She inhaled sharply then shook her head. "No." She did not look at him; her gaze flitted about the room, anywhere but at him.

"Whatever happened, whatever they did to you, you can tell me," he urged, then added with emphasis, "It wasn't your fault."

He felt that it required great effort on her part to move her eyes to his face. Even then she focused upon his chin.

"Could you jus'… y'know, give me some medicine, somethin' sorta, what's the word? Broad, yeah? An' I know it'll work okay." She risked a very quick glance at his eyes.

He reached for her hands. "I don't want you to be in pain," he said very sincerely. "I can fix any injury, no matter where it is or how it happened."

She dared another look into his eyes. "'S not that bad." She averted her gaze again quickly.

"Rose, please—"

"'S not what you're thinkin'," she added. "They didn't… They grabbed me a few times an' said some things, but they never… It never got that far."

Again he sensed that she wanted to tell him what had happened, but she seemed ashamed. He didn't know how else to convey his concern and support to her. Whatever they'd done, however they'd hurt her, would never affect his feelings about her.

"But maybe I should've jus' let them," she said, her voice only a whisper.

Shocked by her words, he entreated, "Why, Rose?"

She swallowed and coughed. Automatically she lifted a hand to her chest, but as soon as her fingers brushed over her shirt she drew her hand away. He fetched a cup of cool water for her, watching while she drank it slowly. He noticed that her hand shook a little.

When the cup was empty, he took it from her and set it aside. Then he turned to face her again. She looked so small and child-like with her legs dangling over the edge of the exam couch and the frightened, anxious expression upon her ashen face.

He took her hand. "Come on," he said softly, helping her from the couch.

Perhaps she'd feel more comfortable and willing to open up to him in a different, less sterile setting. He led her a few paces to a door that connected the infirmary to a cozy sitting room. More times than he cared to remember he'd left anxious companions in here while he treated the wounds of their friends.

A small settee with plush, softly upholstered cushions sat along one wall. Closing the door, he motioned to the sofa. She shuffled over to the couch then sank down slowly. The lighting in the little room was designed to soothe human emotions; he adjusted it to its full strength with a quick tap at a wall switch. That done, he took a few steps to stand before Rose. He nodded at the space beside her, tacitly requesting permission to sit.

She offered him a wooden, half smile. In response, he eased himself down carefully beside her, moving with measured motions to avoid any possible jostling or jarring that could exacerbate her pain.

As he settled next to her, he scrolled through his recent memories, beginning with the moment he'd pulled her into the TARDIS. He replayed the scenes with eidetic perfection, watching her again in his mind, searching for any clues about her injury. She'd moved gingerly, but he couldn't recall anything specific. Had she been a bit guarded, though, toward her abdomen? Hadn't her heart rate spiked for a moment as he'd hugged her and pressed her body against his? And she'd sat down slowly at the kitchen table, with the controlled movements of one trying to minimize core strain.

Internal injury could easily cause an infection, and a serious, very painful one at that. He hadn't noted any signs of fever when he'd touched her, but her deep anxiety could cause temporary circulatory changes, leaving her skin unnaturally cool. Shock, too, could have a similar effect. The lighting should have calmed some of her apprehension; perhaps he could get a more accurate reading now.

He placed his hand over hers, focusing all of his senses upon the temperature of her skin. It was slightly elevated; she had a low-grade fever. Her pulse was slowing incrementally, however, which showed that indeed she was growing calmer.

He slid his arm around her shoulder, tentatively at first in case she didn't want that level of contact. But she sank into him, her head burrowing against his chest, and he understood that she craved the safety and comfort of his closeness.

He held her carefully for some time, and neither spoke. His hand remained upon hers. Gradually her heart rate approached normal, and her respiration slowed as well.

"You're safe, Rose," he whispered, kissing the top of her head softly.

She made an indistinct noise of acknowledgement. He could tell that she was more relaxed, probably due in large part to the lights. It would be very easy to lift his hands to her temples and look inside her mind. If he did it quickly she wouldn't even be aware… But that would violate her trust and her privacy, and given what she'd been through recently, he suspected both were already tenuous at best. So he resisted the urge to find out for himself what had happened to her.

He'd never been particularly good at waiting, though. He was a man of action: seek out the problem then fix it—that had always been his way.

"Would you tell me more about your friend, Pehlia?" he asked softly, hoping to find a path, albeit a circuitous one, to Rose's secret.

"What… what d'you wanna know?"

"How old is she?"

"Couple years older than me."

"How did she end up there?"

"She was travelin', and her ship was hijacked. They landed on the planet an' the hijackers sold her to 'em."

"That's terrible."

Rose nodded soberly. "Yeah."

"You said before that she helped you. What sorts of things did she help you with?"

"She showed me how to dig out the vegetables fast enough to fill the baskets so we wouldn't be punished."

"Punished?" He fought to keep his voice calm.

"Yeah."

He waited, hand moving in soothing strokes over her hair. If his fingers brushed over her temple and his mind sent a tiny bit of encouragement to hers to nudge out the facts, well, it wasn't really intentional.

"They'd use a switch," she said softly. "On our legs."

Surely that couldn't be what she was ashamed of? "May I see?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and he knew immediately that this was not the topic from which she had shied away. He gave her a nod of encouragement, and to his surprise she swung her legs up and set them upon his lap. She shifted her body around a bit, turning partially to the side. He didn't miss the small grimace of pain the swept over her face as she did this.

He smiled his thanks then carefully slid up the loose leg of her trousers to expose her right ankle and calf. Her shin was peppered with small scrapes and punctures. A few were reddened and raised, but these were not the source of the troubling infection. He moved his hand around to her calf and found several similar marks. He slid his palm up further, past the back of her knee then stopped when his fingers felt the rough, raised areas low on her thigh.

He pushed her trouser leg up further and carefully turned her leg to the side to view the damage. Three long scars marred the skin of her lower thigh. The wounds had healed badly, but he saw no signs of current infection.

She watched him without speaking as he examined her left leg, finding similar marks.

"This happened several weeks ago," he stated.

She nodded. "One time's all it took."

One hand clenched at his side. When they returned for Pehlia, he'd see that the guards were punished, not only for Rose and her friend, but for all of the prisoners they'd abused over the years.

"I can take care of these, heal the scars completely so there're no marks," he told her.

"'Kay."

He lowered the soft fabric back down to her ankles and gave her feet a gentle, affectionate caress.

Rose was reclining against the plump pillows between the back and arm of the couch. He leaned over a little, resting one hand very lightly against her belly. She glanced down at the appendage and frowned.

"What're you—" she began.

"If you're hurt here, I can take care of it, too," he replied gently. Through the thick fabric he could feel little, however.

"I'm not."

"Rose, please," he urged. "Let me see."

"That's not…" She looked away again. But as she did, she slid up her shirt to reveal the lower portion of her abdomen. "See?"

Her loose trousers sat just below her hipbones. His gaze ran over her skin. He could see the bones protruding at her waistband and the concave curve of her stomach. His hearts tightened at her thinness. She really had eaten next to nothing during her captivity.

Her skin was fairly smooth, with just a few light abrasions. Still, damage beneath the surface would be less apparent. He placed his hand on her abdomen again, glancing at her to be sure she wouldn't startle, then he felt about very gently. There was no rigidity, and he sensed no tenderness. His fingers dipped a bit lower, sliding beneath her waistband to press carefully between her hipbones.

She grasped his wrist and eased his hand away. "They didn't do anythin' like that to me. I already told you."

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I thought you didn't—couldn't tell me, and I'd have understood that. I know some things can be very hard to talk about, but Rose, you can tell me anything. You know that, don't you?"

She pushed her shirt down . "I should've just let them do it," she said. Then she turned away from him.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_I should've just let them do it. _The words echoed in his mind. He remembered she'd said that before. He still didn't understand, though, what could motivate such a sentiment.

"Rose, no. You can't mean that."

"She said they weren't that rough. They didn't hurt her that much because she knew not to struggle or fight back."

"Pehlia?" he guessed.

He saw Rose nod. "She told me that—told me not to fight if it happened."

He rested his hand against her back. Her heart was pounding now. "How could you not?"

"Dunno. An' I told her that—told her that I couldn't just lie there an' let 'em do it. An' she said they'd probably hurt me really badly or maybe even kill me if I struggled; that's how they are. They get mad really easily, an' then they get violent."

He rubbed at her back comfortingly. He could feel silent sobs reverberate through her and knew that her cheeks were wet with tears. "How did you," he began, his voice rough at first, "how did you stop them?"

"She said…" Rose took a shuddering breath. "She said they wouldn't touch a marked woman. There were a couple of 'em in the next camp over, from some planet called Dog-somethin', I think."

His hand continued its motions. "Yes?"

"Their men, she said, would kill anyone who touched 'em, even if it was years an' years later, so the guards were scared to mess with 'em. Pehlia said that if I was marked, jus' like they were, that no one'd touch me."

The Doctor's hand stilled. "What do you mean by 'marked'?"

"It was somethin'—" She gulped back a sob. "We didn't know where to get one, actually, an' if we couldn't find one that was real, they'd know. But then one of the Dogger-whatever women died; she fell an' hit her head while we were all out in the fields. An' Pehlia got it off her, managed to take it before the guards got to her. An' we both knew it was the only way to keep 'em from comin' for me. They'd already started touchin' me, sayin' what they were gonna do, but they hadn't actually—" She choked back another sob.

He rubbed at her back again. "It's all right, Rose. Whatever it is, it's going to be all right."

She shook her head miserably. "You don't understand…We didn't even understand, really, 'til we did it."

"Did what?" he asked softly, because he knew she was close to telling him.

She swallowed. "It hurt; God, it hurt. We were both cryin', but we couldn't make a sound 'cause they would've heard. She asked me if I wanted her to stop, but I couldn't. What if I'd ended up like her, pregnant with some bloody bastard's baby? So I had her keep goin'." She sniffed.

"Rose, what did she do?"

She shook her head again. "Shouldn't of."

Now he clasped her shoulder softly. "Please, Rose, tell me."

"Hurts," she whispered. "An' they made it worse. Wouldn't touch me _like that,_ but they…" Her small fists balled as they pressed against her belly. "Still hurts."

"I'll make it better," he promised. "You just need to show me."

With a shaky exhalation, she rolled onto her back. Tears still leaked from her eyes. She reached for the zip on her hoodie and slowly lowered it, shrugging it away from her shoulders. She wore a light camisole with thin straps; the one over her left shoulder drooped down. Rose's face had blanched, and she looked away.

The Doctor had to compress his lips to keep from gasping aloud at the horribly damaged skin. At first he couldn't understand what had inflicted such an atrocious injury, but after a few moments he realized that it was the result of a very serious burn. The initial injury must have been about three inches across, most likely in a circular pattern. But now, with the sepsis, the entire area beneath her left collar bone was red and inflamed. He could scarcely imagine how she'd borne the pain.

"How did this happen?" he asked softly, his hand hovering above the wound. He didn't dare touch it until he'd given her a strong analgesic.

Rose swallowed and closed her eyes. "They use a brand," she replied hoarsely. "The women from Dog-whatsit are branded by their men to show they're taken. But it's not just any brand; has to be from a special kind of seal-thingy. Each woman wears hers on a chain around her neck. An' each one's different. If the brand doesn't match the seal, then it's not hers, an' the guards'd take her just like anyone else. But if they see the brand an' the seal, then they know she can't be touched, at least not in _that_ way. But they can still hit her an' grab her."

"Pehlia had to hold the metal against your skin for a long time," he said carefully, still trying to understand.

"Yeah. An' we knew there was a chance they wouldn't believe I was a Dog-whatever woman, 'cause the mark'd be so new. But since I'd only been there a week or so, I reckoned I could tell 'em that I'd been branded jus' before I left home."

"Did they believe you?" he asked gently yet with a measured voice, still terrified that she'd been hiding the truth from him.

Rose nodded. "Yeah. But that didn't stop 'em from pokin' and proddin' it," she gestured weakly to the burn, "and hittin' me there whenever they felt like it."

"Did they do anything else?"

Tears were welling in her eyes again. She blinked. "Yeah."

He waited, hearts thudding against his ribs.

"Couple of times they—" She gulped back a sob at the memory. "They rubbed sand an' dirt into it."

"Oh Rose. I'm so sorry."

He wanted nothing more than to envelop her in his arms, hold her securely and keep her safe from all harm. But the tears staining her pallid, clammy cheeks reminded him that there were other more pressing matters. Abruptly he stood.

"Be right back," he told her as he hurried away.

He returned less than a minute later with a pressure hypo. He pressed it at the base of her neck, just above her collar bone. The anesthetic took effect immediately.

"Oh." She exhaled the word in obvious relief. "Thanks."

He reached for her hand, wrapping it within the security of his own. "I can sort this."

Perhaps she was still a little dazed from the pain and residual shock; she didn't seem to process his words. "I knew, even when she was doin' it, that it'd scar me forever. We heard from one of the other women that the brand had to go deep, so deep that it couldn't be cut off, 'cause some of the women back on their planet had tried that, a long time ago."

"Rose." The Doctor squeezed her hand a little. "It's going to be all right."

He helped her to her feet and led her back into the infirmary. With great care he lifted her onto the couch and guided her to lie back. He set a soft pillow beneath her head then prepared another pressure hypo.

"What's in that one?" she asked.

"A sedative," he replied honestly. "I know this has been very traumatic for you—"

She shook her head rather vehemently. "No. Don't need it."

"It'll help you to feel better."

"Don't wanna feel muzzy."

Her captors had taken away nearly all sense of control from her, and now she needed to reassert herself, prove that she was in charge of the actions and events surrounding her. He understood that; he'd been in the same position more than once in his many lives.

"All right," he capitulated.

Really, he'd hoped that she would sleep while he worked on her. His task would not be pretty, and he wanted to spare her the gory details. Still, he might be able to position himself so that he blocked most of her view, and if she did become unduly upset or anxious he could still administer the sedative quickly enough that she wouldn't realize he'd done it until much, much later. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He gathered the necessary supplies, wheeling a small trolley up next to the couch. The first order of business was curtailing the infection currently rampaging through her bloodstream. The degree of sepsis and necrosis of the burned tissue was significant enough to warrant powerful intravenous antibiotics. He hung the bag on a hook that obligingly lowered from the ceiling.

Rose glanced at the amber liquid. "What's that?"

"Antibiotics specific to this type of infection. They'll take care of the infection inside your body; I'll take care of the issues on the surface."

"'Kay," she assented.

He swabbed her hand with alcohol then very gently inserted the port and attached the line. That done, he touched the top of her camisole. "I need to lower this a little."

She nodded in silent acquiescence.

He took a clean drape from beneath the couch and spread it over her chest then lowered the other camisole strap so that he could pull away the small garment and expose the injury completely.

She watched his motions but did not speak again. He found that no position permitted him to block her view with any real success, so he settled for sitting before her. At least this way he could see her face and be sure she wasn't in any real distress.

He administered another dose of local anesthetic then ran a beam of infrared light slowly and carefully over the burn.

"This'll sterilize the area and begin clearing out the bacteria," he told her, knowing that she'd appreciate some basic information; she would feel a stronger sense of control if he explained his actions.

She gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He noted that she remained very pale, and a fine layer of perspiration shone against her skin. That was probably due to the low-grade fever.

He activated the sterile field at the edge of the couch and thrust his hands into the glow. Then he cleaned the wound thoroughly. Now the difficult work began. This was the part he wished she wouldn't have to see. He needed to remove the infected and dead dermis and underlying tissue then use the appropriate regenerators to regrow the flesh. Initially it would be messy, and it would be difficult to work efficiently if he had to worry about her watching his actions.

"Rose," he said, keeping his voice very calm and steady, "this next bit involves a little surgery. It would really be best if you were asleep. I can put you out for just a short while, just until this part's over."

Her eyes widened in momentary panic, and he sensed her heart rate increase significantly.

"You know I would never, ever hurt you," he said gently. Then he fixed his gaze upon her, and his tone became soft and compelling. "You can trust me, Rose. You know that, don't you?"

She hesitated a few moments then whispered, "Yes."

He smiled. "Good girl." He reached for the pressure hypo. "May I give this to you now?"

In her eyes he saw anxiety and residual fear, but most prominently he saw utter exhaustion. She needed to relinquish control, to slip away for a very long rest. She knew it, too. She'd just needed a little encouragement, a few words of reassurance. She nodded with relief.

Quickly he administered the medication, and her eyelids closed almost immediately. Her heart rate and respiration slowed, and he knew that now he could complete the work with all the gruesome little tasks it entailed.

He reached for a laser scalpel and began cutting the hideous brand away.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

Rose awoke with a start, automatically curling into herself and snatching at the thin, filthy blanket to ward off the early morning chill. Her hands grasped at the thick, soft, clean fabric, and she exhaled a small, very relieved, "Oh."

She was back in the TARDIS, back with the Doctor, and, as she opened her eyes, she discovered that she was back in her room.

The bed was infinitely comfortable and the linens extremely soft. She nuzzled into her pillow for a moment, indulging in the plush luxury. Then she remembered where she'd last been, and she rolled over with a shaky inhalation.

"Rose?" The Doctor's voice was soft and tentative. "You awake?"

She turned her head to blink at him. He sat in a chair he'd pulled up to her bedside. A book lay in his lap, and his glasses were perched upon his nose.

"Yeah," she replied hoarsely. Her voice sounded funny, and she felt very tired and oddly weak. "Think so," she amended.

He smiled. "Good morning. Well, I say morning; it could be afternoon or evening or even the middle of the night, but I'm sure it's morning somewhere, so we'll go with that. How are you feeling?"

She frowned a bit, considering the question. "Okay, I s'pose. Sorta tired still. How long've I been sleepin'?"

"Oh." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand that told her he was feigning unconcern. "Eight or twelve hours or so."

"Twelve?"

"Really closer to fifteen, but who's counting?" He grinned with barely concealed relief. "But now you're awake, you need to have something to eat." He reached for a glass on the night table and handed it to her.

She looked at the contents. It resembled a milkshake, the thick kind like they made in America . She could smell chocolate and banana. She had a taste. "Mmm, 's good."

"Of course it is. Now drink up."

She complied, making it through about half before her stomach felt uncomfortably full. She set it aside. He tipped it for inspection.

"You can finish the rest later."

She nodded. "So was that the, what was it, 'exotic, delicious cocktail' you promised me?"

"Yep. What'd you think?"

"Not bad. I could hardly taste all the vitamins an' stuff." Her mind returned to the infirmary, and suddenly her face felt very warm.

"Rose?" the Doctor asked, reaching out to rest his hand against her brow. "You're flushed. Thought I'd taken care of the fever."

She shook her head. "I'm okay. I was just rememberin'." She looked down; she wore a soft flannel nightshirt that buttoned down the front. He must have put it on her at some point. She lifted the covers to find that her trousers and socks had been removed, exposing smooth and unblemished legs.

She placed her hand beneath her collar bone. She could feel a bandage covering the skin, but the pain—the terrible, ever-present pain—was gone.

"Is it," she began, not even sure what to ask, "is it all right now?"

The Doctor nodded. "Would you like to see?"

She unfastened the first few buttons of the nightshirt and slid it back over her shoulder. He carefully removed the tape at the edges of the bandage then eased it away from her. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage, then looked down.

"Oh!" she gasped, fingers automatically moving to brush over the smooth flesh. "You—how did you—it looks—thank you!" Aside from a little pinkness reminiscent of a mild sunburn, Rose's skin was unblemished.

"It'll be just a bit sensitive for another day or so," he began.

"But there's no scar!"

His brow furrowed a little. "Of course not."

"I thought—I was sure there'd be a bad scar, that I'd be disfigured for the rest of my life."

"No, Rose, I'd never permit that. If I hadn't been able to fix it, I'd have taken you to someone who could."

"But you did this, you fixed it all?"

He nodded, but he still appeared slightly bemused. "Did you really think you'd be scarred permanently? Was that why you wished you hadn't done it?"

She nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Stupid, I s'pose. Even if I'd lost a limb or somethin', it would've been worth it to keep them from… doin' what they did to Pehlia."

He offered her a poignant smile then pulled her forward to envelop her in a warm, firm hug.

She felt safe in his arms, and she would have loved to remain there for hours. But there were other things to attend to. After a minute or so she pulled back.

"We need to get Pehlia."

"Yes, we do," he agreed. "I've already set the coordinates to get us there about a minute after we left."

Rose got out of bed. Her legs felt a bit stiff and a little shaky, but she dismissed these as the results of a long sleep. She was also in rather desperate need of the bathroom. "Lemme just get dressed," she said. "Meet you in the console room in five minutes."

He nodded and walked to the door. "We'll have her back home with her family in time for tea."

"Hmm, don't think her people drink tea. Maybe we'll have to show them what they're missin'."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Ooh, that could be dangerous. I'd never heard of tea 'til I arrived on Earth—"

Rose gave her head an affectionate shake. "An' look how that turned out!"

He stepped into the hallway with a grin and closed the door to allow her to dress.

* * *

The Doctor was tempted to start the dematerialization sequence before Rose joined him. He was anxious to retrieve her friend and return the young woman to safety. He was also determined to help the other captives. He abhorred mistreatment of any living being, and these women were clearly being abused in many, many ways. A large part of him craved revenge, too. Rose had been injured, had endured unspeakable pain, and that warranted payback. He'd see to it that the guards were punished in some way.

He'd been glad to hear Rose joke a bit and see her smile. He'd kept a vigil at her bedside nearly the entire time that she'd slept. After finishing in the infirmary, he'd carried her to her bed and quickly dressed her in comfortable nightclothes while she was still under the influence of the sedative. He'd expected her to wake shortly after it wore off, but she continued in deep slumber for hours.

He'd been a bit concerned—well, more than a bit if he were truthful with himself. He'd known, of course, that she was beyond exhausted and suffering from malnutrition. He'd given her a series of vitamin injections and boosted her immune system with several fairly exotic medications obtained far beyond her future.

He had done all he could for her, yet still he remained worried. It was natural for her body to need replenishing sleep, but fifteen hours seemed excessive. He'd resorted to scans with the sonic screwdriver to ensure that her organs were functioning properly. While she remained rather weak, there was no permanent damage.

In the end, he had no other choice but to sit and wait. The book on his lap had remained untouched; he'd spent the time watching her, listening to her gentle respirations and the small, soft noises she made as she dreamt.

Still, when he'd finally heard the change in breathing the signaled imminent awakening, he'd been more than a little relieved.

When Rose walked into the console room, dressed and with a bit of make-up applied, he smiled broadly. It was so good to see her up and about, determined to save the day once again.

"Ready?" he asked simply, his hand already on the switch.

She nodded.

The ship materialized easily, with nary a bump. He hurried down the ramp to stand before the door. "I'll go out first," he said.

She did not argue, and he knew that, despite her resolve, she was scared.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he reassured her. Then he opened the door and stepped outside.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

The air was hot and dry; dust prickled at the Doctor's nostrils. He looked around, finding that they had landed in the same spot as before. He had instructed the TARDIS to do that, but one never really knew… He glanced down to see the marks Rose's feet had made upon the dusty ground.

The guard who had chased her was just disappearing around the side of the hill, but he must have heard the noise from the ship because he spun around. He raised his weapon.

"Stop right there!" he commanded.

The Doctor already held the sonic screwdriver surreptitiously in his palm. Placidly he raised his hands over his head. He muttered quietly, "Stay inside, Rose."

The guard stormed forward, aiming the gun at the Time Lord. When he was about two meters away, the Doctor shifted his hand slightly and depressed a button on the instrument. A flash of light and high-pitched noise shook the air. The guard closed his eyes reflexively and lifted his hands to his ears.

The Doctor shot forward and wrenched the gun from the man's grasp.

"He's the one," Rose said. "He hurt Pehlia, an' he tried to hurt me."

She was right behind him.

"You were supposed to remain inside the TARDIS!" the Time Lord said.

"No way." She reached for the gun and took it before he could think to protest or stop her. She aimed it at the guard.

"Rose, no," the Doctor said.

"Why not? After what he did to Pehlia, an' what he did to me? See how he likes that kind of pain."

She lifted the gun, hand gripping the barrel firmly. The guard's eyes widened.

"See how it feels?" she spat. "Are you afraid now?"

The guard shook his head. "Don't shoot."

"Oh, that's not what I'm plannin' to do." Still she kept the gun trained on him. Her finger slid to the trigger. With her other hand, she reached into her jeans pocket and withdrew a heavy pendant.

The Doctor's eyes shot from it to her chest. Instantly he recognized the pattern of the burn.

"You got a heating element on that thing?" she asked, gaze flicking to the sonic screwdriver.

"Yes, of course. But Rose—"

"Turn it on an' aim it here."

Memories of her tender, damaged flesh and injured psyche flaring, he complied. In a few seconds the pendant glowed red. Rose stepped forward and held it in front of the guard's face.

"It hurts," she said. "A lot. More than you can imagine. But it's even worse when someone pokes it an' grinds sand into it. Think you can keep from screamin', like I did?"

The guard shook his head. "Don't. Please."

"Think I have to," she replied. She took a step closer, and he flinched back. "Doctor, hold his head."

"Rose, you've made your point," the Doctor began.

But the look on her face was one of desperation and determination. He couldn't deny her. So he stepped behind the guard and placed his hands firmly on the man's temples.

Rose pulled a thick flannel from her pocket and used it to hold the pendant in her hand. Slowly she moved the glowing brand toward the man's face. He was sweating, and his eyes were huge.

The heat of the pendant caused his sweat to sizzle. The hot metal was less than a centimeter from his skin. The Doctor stood rigidly, waiting until the last possible moment. Rose lunged forward.

The guard screamed and sank to his knees. She flung the pendant at his feet.

"Get the hell out of here," the Doctor said, nudging the man with his knee.

The guard scrabbled to his feet and began to run, turning back just once to give them a final astonished stare. He was flushed, but his skin remained untouched.

Rose stood for a moment staring at the pendant, then she kicked a bit of sand over it.

"C'mon," she said, "let's go get Pehlia."

"And the others?" the Doctor asked.

"There's more than a hundred," she replied. "Can we take 'em all?"

"We could. But I think I have a better idea."

He reached for her hand, and they began walking back toward the camp.

* * *

A few quick flashes of the psychic paper were all that was required to have the guards nearly cowering before the tall, lanky visitor who'd brought one of the slaves back. His "credentials" showed that he was a high-placed, powerful government official. His words indicated an investigation into the illegal use of unpaid labor and unethical treatment of the workers. In this remote province, no one had ever bothered to check that conditions were equitable or humane—until now.

A string of additional words identifying Rose as the "official's" wife left the guards pale and stammering excuses.

The Doctor did not need to feign indignation or anger as he lectured the guards and their supervisor about mistreatment of the women. When he told them that the women must be released with generous compensation then escorted to the nearest spaceport for immediate transport to wherever each one wished to go, they merely nodded their heads. Like most bullies and tyrants, they lost all their bravado in the face of one who was clearly more powerful and of higher stature.

While the Time Lord began organizing the release, Rose searched for Pehlia. A guard was just stepping out of the shack they had shared.

"You!" he shouted, reaching for her arm. "I'll teach you to try running away again!"

His grip tightened. Rose glared at him, anger fuelling her strength. "Let go of me," she said firmly.

He lifted his other hand and gripped her shoulder forcefully, grinding his thumb against the area beneath her collar bone.

Her body remembered the pain, and she slapped him, hard. He stumbled back, blinking in momentary surprise before his expression darkened with ire.

"You little bitch!" He lunged for her.

Rose sidestepped him and slipped the gun from her waistband. She pointed the weapon at his groin. "Give me an excuse."

"Where'd you get that?"

"From him." She pointed across the compound, where the guard she had nearly burned stood with his fellows, cowed in the face of the Time Lord's livid lecture. "I'm with the Doctor, an' he's seeing to it that things are gonna change," she finished.

The guard's hand twitched toward his sidearm, but Rose shook her head. "Don't test me. I mean it." Her voice was hard. She leaned forward and pulled his gun from its holster. "Now get the hell over there with the others."

He shambled away, and Rose entered the shack. She found Pehlia curled on the floor. One eye was puffy, and her lip was cut. She was pale, with a hand clasped over her swollen belly.

"He hit you?" she asked.

Pehlia nodded. "He thought I'd know where you'd gone. Why did you come back, Rose? You should've stayed far, far away."

"I came back for you, an' for the others. Everything's gonna be all right now."

Rose helped her to stand then wrapped an arm about her waist. She escorted the young woman back to the center of the compound, where the other women were already gathering in preparation for their release.

Eager, disbelieving, relieved voices rose and fell. The Doctor's expression remained serious, but his eyes held softness. Rose knew it came from helping the downtrodden.

With a few more curt yet threatening words to the guards, the Doctor turned to Rose and her companion.

"You must be Pehlia," he said kindly, extending his hand. "I'm the Doctor. I'm pleased to meet you."

She nodded. "Rose told me so much about you. She'd said you'd come for her…"

"Much, much too late," he said regretfully. Then he brightened and added, "But everyone's going home now. They're getting on shuttles and should be back where they belong in a day or so."

Pehlia smiled wanly. "That's wonderful." Then she blanched. "My husband… Oh, what will I tell him?"

Rose hugged her friend. "The Doctor and I will tell him what happened. It's gonna be all right."

Pehlia swallowed and wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand. "Thank you."

"Now," the Doctor slid his arm gently around her shoulders, noting the trembling in her legs, "we're taking you to our ship, and we'll have you back home in no time."

"Your ship?" Pehlia repeated. "I'm not going on a shuttle?"

"Nope," he replied. "You're getting a special escort."

Still half-stunned, the mother-to-be permitted herself to be led to the TARDIS.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

Rose offered a few words of warning about the ship's surprising interior, but still Pehlia paled even more once she stepped inside.

After a short barrage of brief questions, the Doctor scurried up the ramp and entered the coordinates for Pehlia's planet. Before he hit the dematerialization sequence, however, Rose spoke.

"Doctor, I think you should have a look at her before she gets home."

He glanced up from the console. Pehlia had a split lip and swollen eye. At the very least he could remedy those injuries before she faced her family. She remained ashen, too, and he'd sensed significant weakness the instant as he'd rested his hand against her back.

"Right," he responded. "Good idea." He strode down the ramp toward them.

"Rose?" Pehlia asked. "What's he going to do?" She did not look at the Doctor.

"He's gonna sort your lip and eye, an' he's gonna have a look at the baby, be sure everything's okay."

Pehlia shook her head slowly. Clearly she'd developed a fear of men, and rightfully so, given the way she'd been treated. "No," she murmured, "I'm… I'll be all right."

Almost unconsciously she huddled into Rose.

The Doctor stood still, keeping his posture calm and non-threatening. He caught Rose's eye. She gave a little nod.

"It's gonna be okay," she said to her friend. "You can trust him. He won't hurt you."

Pehlia swallowed and drew a shaky breath. "I…"

Rose pulled back a little and unzipped her hoodie. She tugged aside the edge of her tank top to reveal the smooth skin below her collar bone. "He fixed it," she said. "That's what he does; he fixes things. He can help you."

Pehlia's eyes moved to the Doctor's face. He offered her a kind smile. Rose stroked her hair softly.

"All right?" she asked.

Pehlia finally nodded, and Rose slowly led her from the room.

Rose kept Pehlia's hand in hers as the Doctor gently cleaned her lip then used the dermal regenerator to repair the damage. He healed her black eye with the device, too. Then he pressed a small, flat box into Rose's unoccupied hand and softly instructed, "Place this over her wrist and tap this button."

Rose complied, remembering that this was the device that he'd used to take and analyze a sample of her blood. Pehlia sat unflinchingly as Rose performed the task. The Doctor smiled at both young women encouragingly then turned back to the countertop to slide the little device into the machine that would provide the results.

Rose watched his back as he read the scrolling, utterly foreign script. She thought his shoulders tightened a bit, but when he turned to face them again his expression was calm.

He did not share the results of the test; he simply gave Pehlia a warm, gentle smile and asked her if she wouldn't mind terribly lying back.

Rose helped her friend to settle onto the examination couch while the Time Lord gathered some additional equipment. He returned to the couch with a hand-held scanner.

"I'm just going to switch this on and run it over you," he said. "You won't feel anything, and it won't harm the baby."

After Pehlia gave a small nod of assent, he activated the machine and moved it along her torso. His expression remained placid, but Rose could see the slight twitch along his jaw. He held the scanner over Pehlia's abdomen for several seconds then switched it off.

"May I touch your stomach?" he asked kindly.

Rose gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I'm gonna be right here."

Pehlia's eyes remained wide, but she whispered, "Yes."

Carefully the Doctor placed his palm upon her stomach. He closed his eyes for a few moments then opened them as he moved his hand over the swell of her belly.

"Is the baby," began Pehlia, her voice very low, "is it… all right?"

He removed his hand then turned to face her. "Would you like to see?"

Pehlia's eyes moved to Rose, who offered her a smile.

"Yes."

The Doctor used another scanner—Rose thought it was probably much like an ultrasound—to transmit an image of the fetus onto a screen that he wheeled up next to the couch. The image was much clearer than those she'd seen in the past, however; the baby's fingers and toes were visible and distinct.

"Is it…" Pehlia was clearly overwhelmed. "Is it a girl?"

"Yep," the Doctor replied. "She's a bit on the small side, but her heart and lungs are fairly strong. I'm going to give you a couple of good nutritional and vitamin boosts and send you home with some pills that I want you to take until she's born. They'll help strengthen her bones and organs."

"How long will it be?" the young woman asked.

"A few days at most," he replied. He shifted the scanner lower then glanced at the screen again. "You're partially effaced and you're dilated… oh, looks like about two centimeters. It shouldn't be long now." He pulled the scanner away then asked, "Would you like me to print this image so that you can show your husband?"

"I don't… I'm not sure he'll want to see it," she replied.

"I think he will," the Doctor said with a knowing grin.

"Doctor?" Rose questioned. She knew that look too well.

"The guard we met when we arrived," he said. "He was the one who—who mistreated you both so badly, wasn't he?"

Rose nodded. "Yeah, that was him."

"Well, I happened to get a strand of his hair, and I did a quick DNA analysis when I was doing the blood work and compared the results. Pehlia, that man is not the father of your baby."

"He's not?" the young woman asked with great surprise.

"Nope. Is your husband by any chance ginger?"

"Yes, he is."

"Lucky bloke," the Doctor replied. "All of the guards have dark coloring; I noticed that right away. But your baby's ginger."

"Doctor, how can you know that?" Rose asked. The image on the screen had seemed primarily black, grey, and white.

"My vision's more sensitive than yours—much higher concentration of cones."

Obviously he thought that would provide a viable explanation. Rose decided not to question it. Instead, she hugged Pehlia.

"That's wonderful news!" she said. "Your huband's gettin' you back, an' a baby to boot."

"But I was there was almost nine months," Pehlia said, still dubious about the news.

"You're nearly nine months along. You must've been pregnant and not yet realized it," the Doctor informed her benignly.

Pehlia extended her arm and reached for his hand. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied with utter sincerity. "Now, let's see about printing that picture of your little girl, then I'll get those supplements for you."

He walked across the room to a small alcove in which Rose glimpsed some computer equipment.

"Be right back," she told Pehlia. "I'll get you somethin' else to wear." She hurried over to the Doctor and said softly, "She's really gonna be all right?"

He looked down at her. "I think so. She's weak and malnourished, no question about that, and I'm not sure she'll be strong enough for natural childbirth, but her planet's got fairly good medical science, so she should come through a C-section just fine if it comes to that. Supplements'll help some, too."

"An' the baby's really okay?"

"As I said, she's small, and she's probably going to need some time in the neonatal ICU, but she should be all right with proper care."

Rose pushed herself up onto her toes and planted a kiss upon his cheek. "Thank you."

He offered her a sad smile. "Any time, Rose."

* * *

After the Doctor finished with Pehlia, Rose took her to one of the bathrooms so that she could shower and feel fresher when she was reunited with her family. Rose helped her to comb out her hair then dried it for her. She applied a touch of mascara and blush to brighten her friend's features a bit, too.

When the two young women stepped into the console room, the Doctor informed then that they had reached their destination. Rose walked Pehlia to the doors and pushed them open. She was aware of the Time Lord moving quietly down the ramp to stand a few feet behind them.

"Oh!" Pehlia gasped softly when she saw her house at the end of the pretty, tree-lined street. "We really are here."

Rose squeezed her hand gently. "C'mon, let's get you back where you belong."

* * *

The next half hour was a rapid progression of surprised exclamations, hugs, kisses, tears, and finally sober expressions as the Doctor took Pehlia's husband aside and explained her immediate needs. He did not tell the man what his wife had been through; he understood that she would need to share the information as she felt comfortable doing so. He simply informed the anxious spouse that she had lived in very poor conditions for some time and would need continued medical assistance and monitoring.

After additional words of gratitude and more hugs, the Doctor and Rose returned to the TARDIS. He set the coordinates for the void, dematieralizing the ship within a few moments.

"Right. Now, where would you like to go next?" he asked cheerfully, pushing aside the memories of the last day. "How about Xchocala, the planet where chocolate originated? They use it in just about everything—" He turned to face her with a wide grin.

Rose stood at the top of the ramp blinking hard. One hand reached out to press against the console, and he realized that she was shaking.

"Rose?" He stepped over and wrapped his arms around her. "What's the matter?"

"Long day," she replied hoarsely.

"Long month," he corrected, his voice heavy with remorse.

"Yeah."

He steered her gently toward the corridor. "I think a bit of down time is in order."

She nodded tiredly but managed a weak smile. "No jokes about how much humans sleep?"

"Nope." Trying to lighten the mood, he added, "Maybe tomorrow."

When they reached her room, she hugged him. "'Night, Doctor."

He planted a soft kiss upon her crown. "Sleep well, Rose."

She stepped inside and closed the door.

* * *

_To be concluded in the epilogue_


	8. Epilogue

Rose shifted around for the twentieth time beneath the covers. She was bone-achingly tired, but sleep refused to claim her. Each time she closed her eyes she saw the livid brand upon her skin. Her shoulder seemed to burn and throb at the memory. But she could live with that.

What she could not abide—what made her cringe physically—was the thought that somewhere across the galaxy women were still subjected to this torture. At this very moment, pain was ripping through a helpless woman's flesh as she was marked for life. The pain would fade in time, but the subjugation would not. Each woman would remain the property of a selfish man. He could treat her cruelly or carelessly, but her status would never change. She would be nothing more than chattel.

Rose tossed and turned for a long time. Finally she got out of bed and shuffled off to the kitchen. Her stomach felt tight, but the sensation had little to do with hunger. She prepared a cup of chamomile tea then sank down at the table.

"Rose?"

The Doctor's voice startled her. She had her back to the door and hadn't seen him walk by.

"Yeah."

"What're you doing up? I thought you'd sleep for another three or four hours." He sat down opposite her, offering her a smile that only partially masked his mild concern.

"Wasn't really that tired," she replied, lifting her cup. She felt chilled and needed the warmth of the beverage.

"You don't look very well rested," he commented.

She sighed. "Thanks."

He watched her as she took a sip of the tea. "Pehlia really is going to be all right," he said.

"Yeah, I know."

His brow furrowed slightly. "Is there something else bothering you?"

"Those other women," she began. She had to set her cup on the table; her hand was shaking. "The ones who're branded. They're going back to those men, to the ones who did that to them."

He nodded somberly. "Yes. But at least they're away from the guards. They're going home."

"To what? To more slavery? To servin' men and doin' their bidding? What kind of life is that?"

"It's the life they've always known."

The mildness of his reply surprised and angered her. "What the hell's that s'posed to mean? Are you sayin' you think it's all right because that's what they're used to?"

"Rose, I—"

"Because it's not all right! No one deserves to be treated like that, to be put through that kind of pain an' then to have to be someone else's property her entire life!" She was rubbing at her shoulder, the memory of the anguish throbbing through her. "But they don't have to live like that. We can help them, just like we helped the others. We can go there an'—"

"And what?" he interjected. "What do you think we could do?"

"Help them. Change things—"

He reached for her hand, taking it in his as he met her gaze steadily. "We can't change an entire society or alter a civilization."

"'Course we can! We do it all the time!"

"No, we don't," he corrected gently but firmly. "We stop atrocities, prevent madmen and megalomaniacs from taking over established cultures, but we don't change fundamental belief systems, even if we don't agree with them."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not the way it works."

She found the simplicity of his statement infuriating. "Then how does it work?" she asked hotly. "Why have the TARDIS an' the ability to go anywhere, any time if you can't change things for the better?"

He looked down at her hand in his. "I'm just one individual. Even I don't have the power to sweep aside traditions held for hundreds, possibly thousands, of years."

"But you're a Time Lord! You can do anything—"

He met her gaze again. "No, Rose, I can't." He stood. "Finish your tea then try to get some rest."

He slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her perplexed and more than a little disappointed.

* * *

She'd been in the library for hours, pulling book after book from the shelves. It had taken her a long time to find the planet Dogguera-7 in one of the dozens of intergalactic atlases, but finally she had located it. She recognized the name immediately.

Her next task had been to search the countless volumes on the history and culture of every planet known to the Doctor's people until she found a good description of Dogguera-7. Now she reread the information. It merely served to confirm what she'd already surmised about the society's strictures.

Rose's eyes were burning, and for a few moments she felt indescribably tired. She set the book aside and leaned back in the chair. But behind her closed lids she saw only the glow of the brand. All desire for sleep slipped away.

Now she understood the basic structure of the government and society on Dogguera-7. She could present the information to the Doctor rationally and together they could formulate a plan. Once she'd shown him that she understood, surely he'd be willing to consider helping.

Armed with two thick books, she made her way to the Console Room. The Doctor, however, was nowhere to be seen. She set the books on the jumpseat then went in search of the oddly elusive Time Lord.

Rose walked the corridors for some time, poking her head into every room she passed, only to find each one empty. Finally she ended up at her own doorway. She glanced inside her room, surprised to see her duvet turned down and pillows fluffed. A tray with a steaming tea cup and plate of biscuits and fruit sat on the bedside table.

"Doctor?" she called, realizing that he must have been here moments ago.

But she received no reply. Increasingly frustrated, she shuffled back to the Console Room.

The Doctor stood at the console. He looked up when she entered.

"Did you have your tea?" he asked.

"No. I want to talk to you."

He shook his head. "Rose, you haven't eaten in hours and hours, and I know you haven't slept, either—"

"Can't," she replied curtly. "Too much on my mind. I found books in the library—"

He interjected with a smile, "I should hope so. I'd start to worry if you told me you'd found kitchen appliances or sports equipment, though I never did find that cricket bat I lost years ago…"

"Doctor!" she snapped. "The books. Did you look at them?" She gestured toward the jumpseat, noticing that the texts were gone.

He drew a long breath. "I didn't need to. I already know what's in them."

"So you know that we can petition the assembly, maybe get a new law passed—"

"Rose," he said, "I've already told you. We can't do that."

"But that's how they change things there! If we can get just one assemblyman to accept our petition then try to push it through—"

She didn't realize that she'd lifted her hands in emphasis or that they were shaking. The Doctor stepped forward to capture her wrists gently. He looked down at her, his gaze penetrating.

"Do you have any idea how long you were in the library?" he asked.

"That's not the point!" she protested.

Ignoring her response, he continued, "Eleven hours, Rose. You're exhausted."

"No, I'm fine, at least compared with those poor women."

Unfortunately, Rose's body chose that inopportune moment to contradict her. Her knees began to buckle. The Doctor wrapped his arm about her waist and led her to the jump seat.

"You really can't just let this go, can you?" he asked, his tone rather oblique.

"No, an' I'm surprised you can. That's not like you," she said.

He did not reply. Instead he fiddled at the controls until the ship gave a shudder. Rose gripped the edge of her seat. Once the TARDIS stilled, he turned back to her.

"Societies are living, growing entities. Rarely do they remain static. When things aren't right, eventually change will happen. And Dogguera-7's no exception. Change doesn't usually occur overnight, but given time things improve."

"So what're you sayin'?"

He reached for her hand and helped her up. He escorted her to the door. As he opened it, he said, "See for yourself."

On slightly unsteady legs, Rose walked outside. She found herself on a beautiful indoor balcony. He nodded for her to look over the edge. She saw a massive chamber that she recognized as a government meeting hall. Most of the seats were filled, and at least half of the participants were women.

"Dogguera-7 does change, and for the better," the Doctor said.

A tall woman dressed in deep amethyst robes stepped up to the podium.

"She's their new head of state," he informed Rose.

A young woman stepped out onto the balcony, giving the guests a questioning look. "May I help you?" she asked.

"We're just observing," the Doctor replied.

The woman nodded. Rose noticed that she wore a tailored dress with a wide neckline. Her skin was beautifully smooth and unmarred.

The visitors watched the proceedings for a few minutes, then the Doctor led Rose back to the TARDIS.

"How long's it been?" she asked as they stepped inside.

"Since the slaves returned, you mean?"

She nodded.

"About seventy-five years."

Rose frowned, ire building again. "Those poor women had to suffer for at least two more whole generations!"

"Yes, some did. But while you were doing your research, I did some, too. It was the returned slaves who planted the seeds of change in their daughter's and granddaughter's minds. It took some time, and the transition wasn't always smooth, but you can see where they are now."

"Yeah," she conceded, "things seem much better."

"They are. But if we'd tried to go charging in there, demanding change, we would have upset the natural progression of things. This had to come from within, from the very heart of the society."

Rose rubbed a hand over her shoulder. The persistent ache was gone now, but the new bruise was sore. The Doctor pressed his cool fingers beneath her collar bone.

"Better?" he asked simply.

She nodded.

"Think you can sleep now?"

"I'm not sure." Despite her exhaustion, she still felt that quiver of anxiety; the memories of pain and torment would not be dispelled.

He ushered her to her room. She sat down on the bed but made no effort to lie back.

He removed her shoes as she unzipped her hoodie. He helped her to ease out of it.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, his eyes immediately locking on the fresh bruises peppering her arm.

"Guard grabbed me when I went to get Pehlia," she replied tiredly. She glanced down at her shoulder.

He moved aside the fabric of her camisole to expose the deep bruise fully.

"He thought I still had the brand," she informed him. "Bastard wanted to keep hurtin' me."

Suppressing his anger in favor of concern, the Doctor gently touched the area around the bruise, needing to reassure himself that she hadn't been seriously injured again. "He won't hurt anyone else," he told her. "None of them will."

Rose nodded wearily. "Thanks for that."

"I'm sorry," he began.

She shook her head with more strength than he thought she currently possessed. "Don't be. If I hadn't been captured an' kept there, those women'd still be slaves, an' they'd still be gettin' hurt."

When had her limbs begun to shake? She blinked in confusion and surprise. Suddenly the Doctor's arms were wrapped around her, and her face pressed to his shoulder. She felt his hand move over her hair.

She wanted to say something, to acknowledge him, but the words caught in the constriction of her throat. She blinked against the hot wetness in her eyes. "There's so much cruelty," she choked out, "so much pain… everywhere. Doesn't it ever stop?"

"No," he replied honestly. "But sometimes we _can _make it better."

A soft sob escaped her.

"Sshh, it's all right," he said gently, his hand continuing its tender strokes over her hair. "It's all over, Rose. Let it go."

The tears flowed, and her body shook with sobs. The room tilted fuzzily, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. When she regained her bearings, she realized that she was lying on the bed, the Time Lord behind her with his arms wrapped about her.

His fingers caressed her temple softly. "You did help them, you know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Remember, it was the returned slaves who planted the seeds of revolution. You're responsible for that, Rose."

Her eyes were closing of their own volition, her mind and body cleansed of emotion. The last thing she felt was the Doctor's lips as he pressed a kiss over her temple.

* * *

The Doctor lay beside Rose, keeping his arms around her in a gentle embrace. Eventually he took her hand, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over her cool skin as his fingers found the pulse point in her wrist. He frowned. He'd allowed her to push herself too far and much too soon.

Sliding one arm away, he pulled the duvet over her. She made a small noise, and her brow furrowed slightly.

"Sshh," he soothed, brushing his fingertips over her cheek.

Rose's features relaxed. He settled back against the pillows and loosely looped his arm around her again. His hand rested over her shoulder; he was careful to keep his fingers away from the tender bruise. His anger began to return.

But then her voice echoed in his mind: _If I hadn't been captured an' kept there, those women'd still be slaves, an' they'd still be gettin' hurt."_

He quickly comprehended the wisdom of her words. Sometimes this young human possessed sagacity far beyond his own.

"We made it better," he murmured very softly. He pressed a light kiss over her brow then amended, "You, Rose, you made it better. You make everything better."

His head sank down onto the pillow. Rose shifted restlessly for a few moments, and he was afraid he had awakened her. He rolled onto his back, loosening his arms slightly but still maintaining contact with her. She sighed sleepily and settled her head against his chest. In less than a minute she returned to deep slumber, breathing slowly and deeply.

The Doctor tightened his embrace just enough to feel that he held her securely. Her heart beat steadily beneath his palm, the soft rhythm calming him. He permitted his eyes to close, and the Time Lord drifted into contented sleep.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
